


and i'll do it a thousand times again

by CharlotteDaBookworm



Series: Somnusson AU [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet, But Mostly Comfort, Catharsis, Comfort No Hurt, Family Feels, Family Reunions, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, Magical Bond, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, but like in a good way?, how do you even tag fluff, okay a little bit of hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28366119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlotteDaBookworm/pseuds/CharlotteDaBookworm
Summary: Here is the truth about hope:it hurts(it's worth it)
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia & Nyx Ulric
Series: Somnusson AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1225994
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	and i'll do it a thousand times again

**Author's Note:**

> "There is a crack in everything./ That's how the light gets in." Leonard Cohen
> 
> the titles for both this and the previous fic are from the song 'Rise Up' by Andra Day

* * *

here is the truth about hope:

it hurts.

it hurts like nothing else can and it is a hurt you do to yourself the moment you let hope into your heart.

hope is a salvation and a damnation all the same, one that burns bright in your chest and strangles your lungs until you cannot breathe but for it. it’s brilliant. it’s terrifying.

it tears at you, at the core of yourself, ripping down foundations and building them up again until everything you are is _hope_.

and how does one stop hoping?

once hope is there, curled around your heart, clinging to your every step, how you do let go? how do you not hate yourself for even considering sparing yourself the pain of failing over and over and over again?

knowledge is power and hope is pain; hope granted by knowledge is a powerful pain. hope makes you _bleed_.

and Nyx has been bleeding for centuries.

he wishes he could stop.

(he never will)

* * *

Nyx slams back into life with a silent gasp.

There is not a blade in his chest, no blood filling his mouth.

His limbs are heavy, bones aching with a hollow cold that sinks right down to the marrow, and the blood in his veins feels heavy. Every breath he takes is slow, purposefully steady even though his lungs are _burning_.

The surface underneath him is soft.

He breathes in lavender. No dirt.

A bed; he’s on a bed.

He opens his eyes to see the wooden ceiling of a small home.

Someone must have found him, he realises sluggishly, and brought him here. Probably between deaths, the short times when his heart still beat, otherwise they’d have just left him with the other corpses, possibly pulled out the sword if they cared for half-decent steel. He doesn’t remember it though. Doesn’t remember being moved, doesn’t remember another person being there only-

_Uncle_.

Nyx closes his eyes, swallowing back the whine in his throat, and he clings.

He clings to the image in his mind, focuses on messy strands the colour of wine and warm golden eyes that he only ever sees now when he uses magic, remembers high cheekbones and a prominent nose and features that are sharper now than they’ve been in seven hundred years.

He breathes.

Resists the urge to immediately reach for parchment and ink.

He breathes.

Fixes the memory of his uncle in his head.

Nyx opens his eyes.

It drains him more than he’d like to admit to sit up and he has to lean against the backboard of the bed until the world stops spinning and the vice leaves his lungs. He knows then for certain that he must have died more than the once; a single death hasn’t left him so drained since his first one. He doesn’t remember them.

He will, eventually.

The more deaths he has in quick succession, the longer it takes for his memories to return but usually he would have at least flashes of those times. Well, except if-

He lifts a shaky hand to the bandages that are wrapped around his chest, slicing them loose with a flicker of magic that leaves him breathless. When he looks down, he sees a new scar stretching from his sternum to his heart and he nearly laughs.

No wonder he doesn’t remember anything. The blade must have shifted during one of the times he woke, piercing his heart directly. Nyx wouldn’t have had more than seconds each time before death stole him back.

Whoever moved him had saved him days of deaths until the sword shifted enough again for Nyx to pull it free himself.

He’s surprised he didn’t wake bound or being cursed for being a daemon. He wants to thank them.

It takes a long time to pull himself out of the bed and dress in the clothes that have been left for him - his own burned, probably - and it leaves him panting and lightheaded afterwards, standing frozen in the middle of the room for several long moments until he feels like he can move again.

He breathes.

Lifts a foot and moves it forwards.

He breathes.

Listens for the noises of another person and follows them through the door and through a short hallway on silent feet.

He breathes.

Enters what looks to be a small kitchen where a person with their back to them is crouched over a fireplace, their hair almost hidden by the white of their tunic.

The man turns.

Nyx falls to his knees, his heart in his throat.

_Is he dreaming still?_

_“Uncle?”_

* * *

It’s been so long, his memories so faded, that Nyx almost can’t accept that it’s him.

He’s almost ready to apologise, to pass off the resemblance as just that - a resemblance - but he can’t.

Nyx can’t because that’s his uncle, his _king,_ staring back at him with a blank face and guarded eyes.

His knees slam against the hard dirt floor with a loud thump that he can hardly hear over the rapid beating of his heart.

He’s terrified. He elated. He’s relieved and he’s fulfilled because _he_ _’s found him,_ and he feels empty inside because what now? Seven hundred years he’s searched and _what happens now?_

And, for a second, he’s frozen - wide-eyed.

What does he say to the man, the uncle, the **king** , that he’s failed so many times?

_“Your Majesty, my King,_ ** _Uncle,_** ** _”_** he gasps out in a language he hasn’t used, that he hasn’t even thought in for decades. It sits strangely on his tongue, a reminder of everything he’s lost, of everyone he failed, and Nyx bows his head, looking away from that distant gaze. He can’t bring himself look at the King, the kin, he’d failed so horribly but the words pour out of him anyway. _“I’m sorry. I am so_ sorry _. I didn_ _’t know what he was planning, I swear it. I found out too late to warn you and then I wasn’t strong enough and I couldn’t_ stop him _and I_ _’m so sorry. I failed you and you_ died _, Uncle, you died because I wasn_ _’t good enough, because I failed you and I’m so sorry it was all my fault and I-”_

A hand lands on his shoulder and he startles.

Nyx’s head flies up so quickly that his neck _cracks_ painfully but he doesn’t care, just stares up at his uncle in shocked silence.

Ardyn smiles down at him and it’s small and it’s bitter and it’s tired - nothing at all like the soft quirks of his lips or the wide free grins that Nyx can hardly remember - but it makes Nyx swallow back the apologies on his tongue anyway.

_“Rise, Nyx.”_ He says with that quiet authority that had people following him without thought, he orders as a King to his Heir, to his subject, and Nyx obeys, pushing himself to his feet.

He needs his uncle’s help to get there, to _stay_ there, because he’s trembling, and his lungs are burning and every one of his muscles feels like a lead weight and he clings to his uncle’s tunic like a small child.

He feels like he’s dying again.

He’s more alive than he’s been in a very long time.

_“I’m so sorry_ ,” he chokes out.

His uncle pulls him close with an arm around his back. “ _There is nothing to forgive,_ _”_ Ardyn says, pressing a kiss to his forehead and Nyx melts into it - into the familial affection that he hasn’t felt since Ren’s children died, into the parental affection that he hasn’t felt since the man who sired him had decided a crown was worth the price of kin-slaying and murdered them both.

Nyx shakes his head in denial.

“ _There is nothing to forgive, nephew,_ _”_ he repeats. “ _You are not at fault._ _”_

And, as much as a part of Nyx calms at the absolution, as much as he relaxes into his uncle’s hold, he shakes his head again. _“But I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough, and he_ killed _you Uncle!_ _”_

Ardyn just looks at him with a bitter, grieved twist to his lips. “ _And you_ ,” he says quietly. 

It hits Nyx like a blow and he closes his eyes against it. Lets the memories wash over him, curls his fingers even tighter into his uncle’s tunic and presses closer against the phantom pain in his hands.

He curls up in his uncle’s arms and lets himself feel _safe_ and _protected_ and _comforted_ by a being who is not made of storms and justice.

_“I promise I never stopped looking,”_ he swears in a quiet voice thick with silent tears.

_“I know, Nyx. I know.”_

Nyx sobs. _“I missed you so much, Uncle.”_

Ardyn’s arms tighten around him like he never wants to let him go, like Nyx will disappear into ash if he moves back even a sliver.

_“I missed you too. So much.”_

* * *

here is the truth about hope:

it hurts.

it bleeds you dry, until you’re weak at the knees and struggling to breathe, and then it bleeds you even more.

hope takes and it takes and it takes and you give and you give and you give of yourself, piece after piece, because it hurts but not hoping, giving up, hurts even more and you can’t-

hope burns like nothing else can and you love it.

you hate it.

you’re not sure if it’s worth it.

Nyx knows it is.

he’s been bleeding for centuries and he’s never been happier for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (western) New Year
> 
> When I originally planned out this years xmas fic, it was supposed to end on a cliffhanger. Nyx was supposed to finally find Ardyn, recognise him as who he was, and then he'd be killed and that would be that until next year. It was supposed to be a proper shock-horror moment
> 
> I realised pretty soon after that that I didn't want to leave you on that sort of cliffhanger for that long - some of you might actually try and murder me, lol
> 
> so that's where this fic came from. to be posted exactly a week after the first as a surprise and a peace offering
> 
> Then as I was actually writing _I'll rise up_ I decided that I didn't want that shock horror moment. I wanted something a little softer, a little more ambiguous. I didn't want to give you something and then take it away, I wanted to write a story about hope. about losing it. and struggling to keep going as time passes by
> 
> I'm not sure how well I did that, but I tried
> 
> It sort of made this fic feel a bit without purpose but I was determined to keep it anyway. Then I realised that I could have the reunion happen _without anyone realising until they read the next fic._ And I realised I loved that idea. I loved the idea of their meeting being a little fraught but their _reunion_ being just for them in some quiet cabin in the middle of nowhere. So this fic stayed
> 
> And I'm not sure how many are still reading this series, I know it peaked with _Dying Inside_ (even though I'd go back and change things about that fic if I was to write it now), but I hope those who are enjoy this. I hope you like the reunion between these two as much as I liked writing it
> 
> I'll see you all in 357 days


End file.
